by AnonYMous
“Untie my hands, then,” she murmured in her charming Celtic lilt.
The Signore merely chortled at the suggestion and gave another sharp smack on her coppery-toned bottom-cheeks as if to reprimand such sauciness. Miss Jones gave a little squeal, whether of discomfort or excitement, who can say? Perhaps it was a little of both.
Whatever the cause, it goaded the Signore to mount her with the resolve of a born rider astride the saddle. Taking her between the rear of her thighs, he was thus able to give his hands full freedom of fondling her breasts and belly, while his hairy loins tickled and prickled her young backside. There is, alas, no scale of enthusiasm in these matters by whose Fahrenheit or Centigrade one may measure the thrill of desire. Yet our almond-eyed beauty writhed and whimpered in a manner which made such exact measurement unnecessary.
The Signore feasted his lips on the delicate whorls of her ears and the fine moulding of her neck. He bit her lightly on the shoulders and his fingernails raked the smooth gold flanks of her trim thighs. She, in turn, twisted her face round and the tight-lidded slant of her dark eyes begged kisses for her greedy lips. A series of sharp rising cries announced the approach of her climax while the Signore discharged his own passion into her loins with grunts and gasps far removed from the exquisite colour of his famous verses. They lay entwined on the dark blue-and-crimson of the Persian carpet, writhing and panting together a little in the moment of their supreme satisfaction. Presently there was another sharp smack on her bottom to prepare the randy little piece for an encore. Just then I heard a sound in the corridor. Opening my door as softly as I might, I peeped through the crack and took young Marit entirely by surprise. What do you suppose? She had stripped to her white blouse and her denim drawers-which was not unusual at that hour of night. She was also kneeling at Miss Jones's keyhole, which was charmingly lewd! You may guess the sequel. Her features were hidden somewhat by the light brown tresses which lapped about her collar. Yet as she sat upon her heels and viewed the scene in the bedroom, Marit's slim young hand was thrust within the waist of her pants at the front. Her fingers were moving with a most lascivious knowingness between her slender thighs.
Though I could not quite see her face for the silken waves of hair falling about her features, I was certain of her mood all the same, if only from the manner in which her glossy young hair trembled and the gasps which issued from her! Do not condemn her too easily, Augustus. Desire is strong at fourteen or fifteen and yet the proper conduct of society requires that its yearnings must be repressed by its elders. How else, then, is Marit to relieve her feelings? I know that she spends much of the day at cafe tables with girls and boys of her own age. Yet I cannot believe that she has ever so much as had her hand inside a boy's pants to feel his budding manhood. Nor, I think, has a boy ever had his own hand in her knickers to fondle the warmth between her thighs or the cool little orbs of Marit's bottom-cheeks. So the little minx worked herself harder and harder, until at last the spasm came upon her. She shuddered as if with horror and yet surely the pleasure was exquisite. Indeed, she was so overcome that she sank down and lay upon the tiles, hugging her knees to her breasts and her fingers busy in her panties all over again! What momentous events are passing in the Villa Lola, dear cousin! What stories I may have to tell you by the time that I despatch my next letter to England! Your own loving Maude Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude VI. Augustus to Lady Maude Wight, 14 June, afternoon My dearest Maude, I received your letter with its charming and most amusing anecdote of Miss Jones. Yet I fear, my dear cousin, that I am hardly a good audience for such tales just now. To tell you the truth, I do not know whether to rejoice or despair. I have devoted my time to finding out all that I can about Julie, where she lives and what time she may be seen in the street or at her work in the bookshop. To what purpose is all this? I have discovered that she has a lover with whom she shares her rooms. I had feared this and was quite sure that it must be a hulking fellow in whose company I had seen her from time to time. I was wrong. She has a lover but, believe me, it is another girl! You see my predicament? I do not know whether that makes my situation better or worse. Is a woman a more dangerous rival for me than a man? I cannot tell and do not know how to begin finding out.
The girl, like so many common sluts here, is one of Mr. Bowler's young whores. You may see her and a number of others busying themselves as you pass the doors of one of his shops. This creature is named Sian and I daresay you know her. She has a mop of lightly waved reddish hair and a white-skinned look. Her eyes are a light blue, her cheekbones slanting and her chin rather weak with a painted little bud of a mouth. She is not particularly tall and her look is of a slack and sluttish girl. I am no purist in such matters, however. Were it not for my rivalry with the girl-my aversion, needless to say-I would allow that Sian has that characteristic Celtic beauty of pale skin, reddish hair which always seems to make skin even whiter, and blue eyes which sometimes look dark from the manner in which she applies the mascara brush to their lashes. Her figure at twenty years old is at that desirable stage of rounding softly but without showing the degree of plumpness which will one day mar her outline. Under a snug singlet one sees the resilience of her cherry-topped breasts.
When Sian bends over in her cotton working-pants of pale grey-blue, she tightens them skin-smooth over thighs that are still trim and bottom cheeks which are still tautly rounded with the elasticity of youth. I had watched her in this posture a day or two before, the cotton so tight at the seat that one easily saw the ridge which mapped the outline of Sian's knickers. Do not think I am blind, then, to her attractions. Yet there is no torture I would shrink from imposing as a punishment for her seduction of Julie's innocence. I swear I have seen Sian wearing a wedding-ring. If she has regular exercise on the staff of a husband or boyfriend, what excuse is there for her depravity with another girl? It is not the helpless inclination of a born lesbian but a matter of calculated lechery. What right has she to enjoy the pleasures of Julie's bed when my own passion burns unrequited? I will not give up the pursuit of my beloved-rest assured of that. I have rented a common lodging across the street from her own, the better to lay siege. Its upper window commands a view into all her rooms, so that I may survey the object of my desires as well as the machinations of my rival. Before you cry alarm at my obsession and write to Dr. Raspail about my condition, let me inform you that all my suspicions have proved well founded, as I saw for myself last night. Would you credit it? Thinking this room of mine unoccupied, the two girls did not so much as draw a curtain over any window. I saw all that passed as clearly as if then in the best box at the theatre and they performing on the stage a dozen feet from me!
But first you may be sure I had not missed the opportunity of taking many a view of Julie during the day, while she sat on her stool behind the shop counter in her plain black dress and coquettish little red shoes. I watched her as, having changed into the working pants of tight denim, she lifted the books and filled the shelves again. At a discreet distance, I followed her through the streets on her route to the rooms where Sian waited. How I adored the spread of her fine golden-blond hair on her shoulders as it rose and fell a little with the rhythm of her agile steps! How my eyes caressed her slender thighs in the skin-tightness of smooth faded denim which creased across their backs and behind her knees at each movement. Though she is, I hear, nineteen years old, Julie's thighs have the endearingly fragile look of a little girl's. My desires grew harder as I watched in the tight denim seat the lewd little movements, while she walked, of the saucy little cheeks of Julie's bottom! When we came to the narrow street, I hurried up to my window and sat there discreetly behind the curtain. Every room opposite was open to my view-bedroom and kitchen, even toilet and bathroom-so little did they imagine themselves to be observed and so little, perhaps, did they care. Sian was watching for her girlfriend's arrival. I saw the image of her face and the short tresses of red hair shaped about her head and lying here and there on her forehead. In anticipation of the passion
and seduction to come, she had darkened the lashes of her blue eyes with the mascara brush and painted red the sensuous little bud of her lips. With her pert young nose and the slight weakness of her chin, she appears the most blatant sensualist. They met at the door of the sitting-room and at once slid their arms about each other in a writhing and smoothing embrace. Each of them seemed to be trying to stifle the other with the pressure of mouth upon mouth. Sian, the tendrils of dark red hair lying over her brow, was quite shamelessly unbuttoning Julie's blouse with all the moist eagerness of frustrated passion. In a moment more her hands had firmed up those pert little breasts which I vow ought only to be accessible to my own adoring hands. I was so vexed, Maude! So very vexed that I cannot describe my state of mind with any lucidity. It pains me even to recall my feelings then.
They led one another off, with arms twined lewdly round waists and heads resting together, pausing to kiss and nuzzle at every few steps. The door from the bathroom to the toilet opened and Julie went in, undoing her pants in preparation. At least, I thought, the door would be shut and she would be separated from Sian for a few minutes.
Perhaps I would contrive some scheme for getting the slut with the mop of red hair into my power by then. I was so enraged, my dearest, that I trembled afterwards at the images which had occurred to me. Yet I cannot say I regretted what I would have done to Sian if fate had delivered her to me in some harem from which no scandal ever emerges.
How I hated her painted little mouth and her round chin, the slant of her cheekbones and the way she mascara'd the lashes of her wide blue eyes. I raged at the mop of red hair trimmed short where it just lapped over her collar, its stray plumes falling on her brow. I would have handed the leather strangling-strap to my major-domo and ordered him to do his worst to Sian. Vain dreams, indeed, and yet most agreeable to me in my jealous fury-and surely justified by what I saw.
The door of the toilet did not close. Sian and Julie both entered.
Julie sat on the pedestal with her knickers round her ankles and released her flood on the porcelain. All the time, Sian hung over her and browsed with lips on lips. Julie sat a little longer while her friend busied round her. Then I saw that my treasure was winding her golden blond hair into a strand, holding it forward from the crown.
With Sian's aid she once more pinned it into that delightful little top-knot which gives her the look of such a saucy little madam of a child! Even before Julie rose from the pedestal, Sian knelt before her and removed the panties and denim which were round her ankles. To my fury she seemed to be telling Julie, in a sly and sluttish manner, that she would need to wear nothing of that kind again this evening and that indeed she might not be permitted to. I wonder, Maude. Do you suppose it could be contrived for the sharp bodkin point to enter Sian's belly button at such a snail's pace that she might live a whole day and night upon it? I cannot wish for less that that! I watched them return kisses again. Now it was Sian who undid her pants and sat upon the pedestal. I tell you, Maude, I nearly swooned with horror when I saw how she had led my girl astray.
For now it was Julie who hovered over Sian, lips to lips, while the redhead pressed the pale softness of her hips and bottom on the seat and then let loose such a flood upon the porcelain. Is the world mad? Has decency deserted the entire female sex? Like a pair of dirty little schoolgirls, Sian and Julie fondled and played in this inauspicious bridal suite. That was but the start. Sian stood up and removed her own pants from the tangle round her ankles. Naked from the waist down, arms about one another, they slunk from there into the bedroom. You may well believe that the boudoir of such a pair was a place of extreme disorder and that the cover of the bed itself was littered with the brushes and patch-boxes, the rouge and mascara, by which beauty is applied to certain female features. Among this debris, down they lay. Each pulled the other's blouse up to bring their breasts into play, nipples teasing nipples into hardness while I watched them. Then it seemed that Sian coaxed Julie to mount astride her thigh by cocking a leg over and to have a ride. My view was of Julie's saucy little bottom-cheeks and the rear of her thighs as she did this. How she squirmed! How her seductive little bum-cheeks clenched and writhed, her thighs squeezing upon Sian's in order to excite the sensitive folds of her vaginal flesh. I saw that Julie's passion rose easily and this made me lament all the more that she was not spending it upon me. Her hands were clenched into fists and she ground her teeth with frenzy. She clenched her thighs upon Sian's with such vicious energy that you might have thought she was trying to crush to death her ticklish little clitoris. What was I to do? Alas, I was doomed to be merely the spectator of a pleasure enjoyed at my expense. Julie had been easily seduced. She now turned about so that she knelt astride Sian's face, indeed almost squatted on Sian's lips, while she bowed her own face so that she could employ it between the other girl's open legs. In this manner they made love for the next half hour. First it was with fingers, diddling one another quickly up and down the pleasure slit, working a finger in and then quickly in-and-out. Next it was kissing and tongue-flicking of the other girl's love-button. During this, Sian moaned with happiness all the time and twice screamed out at the intensity of her arousal. Presently to my horror, I saw Julie move a little and kiss Sian upon the cheeks of her bottom. What was to be the end of this? I had not expected to see Julie climax first for though she may appear a sullen little thing, her moodiness did not seem to be of that kind which sometimes cloaks the sensual nature of a woman. And yet it was Julie who orgasmed first. She jigged her hips and her thighs-so slim and fragile- shuddered with the overmastering thrill of the release. She cried out the names of Sian, of her loutish boyfriend, and of several other partners with whom she has enjoyed a rub and a squeeze in the past. Sian, unable to wait longer for her own release, slipped a hand down and completed her own pleasure without any assistance from Julie. With her eyes closed and the tendrils of her red hair lying over her forehead, she began to gasp and tense herself until this randy trim-thighed little shopgirl came off with shudders and murmurs of passionate gratitude to her own fingers. Those who tell you, Maude, that jealousy is like the torture of the rack do not at all exaggerate. The cruelty of it is in the way it pulls a man in opposite directions so that he is no longer master of his feelings. At one moment I saw Julie in the arms of another and could have wept for the loss I felt. Then, with no effort on my part, I felt only a savage anger towards the girl for whom I longed. It was as if, since I could not have her, I wished to see her tortured and abused. Then this feeling too would pass and I was once again desolate in the hopeless state of my exile from her joys.
There are libertines who will tell you that a lover gets a secret pleasure in watching his wife or his mistress in the arms of another woman. If it were a man, he would fly into a rage, reaching either for his pistol or for a writ of criminal conversation. Yet to see a woman maul and masturbate her is a mere jest to him, according to such stories. A woman is no threat to his supremacy over his beloved.
Indeed she shall be made to submit to him as well in a manner which requires no pistols or lawyers' writs. Do not believe it, my dear cousin. These are the jibes of worn-out old roues with no power left to please any woman. To see Sian and Julie toiling at one another was the keenest punishment of desire which I could ever have imagined.
They lay head to tail on the bed, closely inspecting and fondling the spread of each other's thighs and buttocks. The most intense spasms of their mutual desire seemed to be past. Now they were content to stroke and fondle more gently. Despite the wedding-ring on her finger, Sian has trim young thighs and firmly agile bottom-cheeks.
Julie licked her fingers and began to draw wet patterns on the white skin of Sian's trim young buttocks and down her thighs. Now the redhead returned the service to the slim young blonde. They wetted and drooled over each other in the lewdest possible manner until their unwholesome conduct excited stronger passions and they began to pry and insert their fingers, each watching what she was doing to the other at a few in
ches distance in order to inflame her own lewdness.
I cannot envisage what means may be used to drive these two girls apart and to speed Julie into my arms. I do assure you, Maude, they now began to play upon the bed like the most lascivious little kittens. There was not one nook or cranny of either girl's body which was not lingeringly probed and caressed by the tongue of the other little slut! You see where despair born of jealousy had brought me? I now began to think of Julie as a slut! I will leave you to imagine what I wished for Sian when I knew how deeply she had undermined the purity of my passion! Were it in my power, I would order a display behind the plate glass of the shop which should have the crowds a-gape! Sian with her mop of red hair, her white-skinned lasciviousness and blue eyes, a rope round her neck and her feet dancing on air a full hour! A steel bodkin-tip tickling her bare belly-button and beginning to demand entrance! Have no fear, Maude. It is not yet within my power- but it shall one day be! I shall not be called to account for it. Our friend, the Lord Chief Justice, will be my security! Dr. Raspail shall plead my neurasthenia. Have I not been provoked beyond the endurance of a man in perfect health, let alone one in my questionable condition? Despair overcame my curiosity and I turned from the window. Presently I knew that it would be impressible for me to endure another moment in the rooms I had hired to keep my observation upon the pair. Taking up my hat, I went down the stairs and shut the door. Above the little street, I now saw the light shining from the uncurtained window of the room in which the two girls lay, naked and writhing in each other's arms. Upon my arrival home, I threw myself down in a chair and brooded upon my tragedy. Why it was, I cannot say, yet I thought suddenly of those reformatory institutions where young women and girls are taught discipline by methods familiar to us all. I had once browsed through some pages of the House of Correction memoirs and was tolerably well-informed as to the scenes enacted in such places. In my mind I saw a girl of twenty with a firm and round young figure. She was pale-skinned and her mop of red hair fell this way and that. It was Sian. She was hoisted astride the padded vaulting-horse and stretched forward so that she lay along it while she straddled. They strapped her down and made her secure. A brute of a fellow, the very one for such a task, took up the cord whip. He lashed the bare cheeks of Sian's bottom until they were a mass of weals and the blood ran down to the backs of her knees. Thus I imagined, and thus I wished the future should be for our lewd young redhead. And then, Maude, a curious thing happened. Without exercising the least direction over my imagination, I found that the girl whom I pictured over the flogging-horse, screaming and writhing under the whip, was not Sian any longer. It was Julie whom my subconscious mind now presented on the stage of my imagination. The significance of this is more than I dare ponder. I know it is not a subject to be raised with the good Dr.